She's old and settled. But, she's sturdy.
She creaks. But she is a character.
She has little "nooks" and "crannies" where she can keep your treasures and hide your secrets.
I've now told you about the beginning.
And, I explained the Craft Cabinet.
The keys on my laptop typed out the waiting.
The plan had always been to find an apartment. I was going to find my place. Move in. A month maybe. But then. The job came through. With rent prices the way they are, and with cute old style homes awaiting for my quirkiness to do some damage, buying seemed to be the way to go.
I hunted a lot. People came with me. Sometimes they did not. Then I found her online on a Thursday and I knew. Saturday morning my mom and I met with the realtor. I stepped on to the porch, and within minutes they were moved on, and I yelled out to them, "This is my house." I knew.
From the date I first stepped onto the porch, to the day I signed, and was given the keys, only 47 days passed.
Because I cannot help but to name things, such as my plants, I cannot help but give a name to her now. (I will also say that it helps differentiate between "home" my parents, and "home," my place.)
Pearl it is. We, as much as a house and a person can, belong together.
She's older than I. At 113 years she is not perfect. She is, however, solid.
Right now she's a mess. Some walls are painted. Almost nothing is unpacked.
Regardless, peace lives here.
She creaks. But she is a character.
She has little "nooks" and "crannies" where she can keep your treasures and hide your secrets.
*******
I have often wondered how it is that certain people have a way of just knowing and being themselves. My whole life in fact. Those type of people, regardless of where they go, they have the ability to simply be, no matter where they are, they belong. Not me.
Of course, there were other places, and are places that take me in and let me be.There were. There are. There was the space on my floor, right in the corner of my couch. When days were long and stressful, or short and crazy, or even happy, I would settle myself in there by my couch, and just be.
There's always home home. Home where my parents are and my brother lives. Home where I managed to live through middle school.
But at times it just didn't matter about a location. I wanted to belong to me. And I didn't. Even though I should have known myself best, I knew myself least. People would say to me, Stephanie I know you, I know what you are thinking, but I didn't know myself.
And then, a veil lifted. I cannot tell you when it happened, the exact moment, or how it happened, the exact process. I can just tell you that slowly, I would wake up and there would be a spark, an awakening. I suddenly found what I had never known. Me.
Me. Myself. I. "We" moved to Indiana. While the first week was a whirlwind, and about a week later I had a complete and total meltdown.
How do you tell people that you are going? How do you make it make sense to the people that you are leaving? Especially knowing that you are leaving some of the people that you love the most, that you want to be with them, and that if you could you would take with them? How do you tell them?
How do you tell your friend that the draw to move back to Indiana does not make sense, but you have to go, even though being gone and apart does not make sense.
How do you say that as much as you love them, you cannot stay? You have to go away? And that even though you are leaving, you are actually just arriving, and you are being right where you belong.
*******
I've now told you about the beginning.
And, I explained the Craft Cabinet.
The keys on my laptop typed out the waiting.
The plan had always been to find an apartment. I was going to find my place. Move in. A month maybe. But then. The job came through. With rent prices the way they are, and with cute old style homes awaiting for my quirkiness to do some damage, buying seemed to be the way to go.
I hunted a lot. People came with me. Sometimes they did not. Then I found her online on a Thursday and I knew. Saturday morning my mom and I met with the realtor. I stepped on to the porch, and within minutes they were moved on, and I yelled out to them, "This is my house." I knew.
From the date I first stepped onto the porch, to the day I signed, and was given the keys, only 47 days passed.
Because I cannot help but to name things, such as my plants, I cannot help but give a name to her now. (I will also say that it helps differentiate between "home" my parents, and "home," my place.)
*******
I came home, we did. I did. I was welcomed home by family and friends. Cornfields and green pastures.
I welcomed myself home. I used the key and opened the door, and breathed in deep..
When you come to my place, we, "she" and I will welcome you in.
*******
Pearl it is. We, as much as a house and a person can, belong together.
She's older than I. At 113 years she is not perfect. She is, however, solid.
Right now she's a mess. Some walls are painted. Almost nothing is unpacked.
Regardless, peace lives here.
“I don't even remember the season. I just remember walking between them
and feeling for the first time that I belonged somewhere.”
